Worn Out Blue Suit
by Blatherskite3
Summary: After a nasty break-up, America shows up on England's doorstep in the rain, wearing the old, blue suit. USUK


Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia: Axis Powers.  
><span>Warnings:<span> Slash and cursing. And copious amounts of fluffy cheese.  
><span>Pairing:<span> USUK

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><p><strong>Worn Out Blue Suit<br>**

_Outside, by your doorstep  
><em>_In a worn out suit and tie  
><em>_I'll wait  
><em>_For you to come down  
><em>_Where you'll find me  
><em>_Where we'll shine  
><em>_~I Go to the Barn Because I Like the - Band of Horses_

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><p>Who started the fight was completely lost to both of them. All they knew was that it had quickly escalated into a screaming match. What started as petty name-calling soon evolved into a complete and total bashing of the other. While that wasn't completely horrible in it of itself, one thing that America said really got to England.<p>

"You're just a senile old man that wouldn't know fun if it molested you!"

While the choice of wording was questionable, the meaning was still quite clear. And it struck the Brit hard. It was almost as if he could feel his heart shatter, then turn to ice. All at once his demeanor changed from angry to frigid.

"Get out," England growled, his green eyes narrowing menacingly.

"Fine," America scowled. The teenager turned on his heel and stomped to the door, sounding much like a child having a temper tantrum. The door was yanked open, revealing a dark, overcast sky. America didn't seem to notice. He, instead, just slammed the door behind him. The force was enough to shake the whole house, which just fueled England's fury more.

Muttering vulgar insults that would put Romano to shame, England tossed himself into the beige recliner. For once, he didn't cry. Even when the anger faded into sorrow, he still had no desire to cry. It made him wonder if he was beginning to get over America.

The answer to that train of thought came within a second. _You wish._

England shook his head to clear it. He stood up to find something to take his mind off of America, and found that he could hear rain hitting the roof. "How appropriately cliché," he commented aloud to himself.

A rebellious part of his mind wondered if America had made it home okay, but he ruthlessly suffocated it. Deciding that he needed some tea and a good book, England headed to the kitchen, still ignoring his inner voice.

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><p><em>Punch. Punch. Kick. Punch. Punch. Kick.<em>

America continued in the same manner as he beat up his punching bag. His basement was dimly lit, but somehow it helped to set the mood for him. Delivering another kick to the punching bag, America's mind drifted onto the topic of his boyfriend, England.

Wait, was he even his boyfriend anymore?

Deciding that he didn't want to deal with that particular train of thought, America pushed it aside.

"Stupid Arthur..." he grumbled as he punched the already beaten up punching bag. "He just _had_ to be _so damn_ _perfect_ that...

"That I couldn't help but fall for him..."

America slowly lowered his hands, giving the punching bag one last halfhearted kick. Admitting that to himself had completely killed his anger, only to replace it with sadness.

With a far away look in his eyes America took off his boxing gloves and placed them on the table beside the still swinging punching bag. He headed up the stairs and closed the door to the basement behind him.

He passed by Tony, who looked at him questioningly. "Later, bro," America said without looking at him.

It didn't take a genius to figure out what had gotten the teen so down. "Fucking limey," Tony spat, sitting down to play some video games.

Oblivious to his alien friend's hatred for his (ex?) boyfriend, America headed upstairs to take a quick shower and change his clothes. Afterwords, he decided that he needed some time to think. His feet took him up to the attic, and before his brain could catch up he was sitting against the wall.

Where had everything gone so wrong? America asked himself. When he was younger he and England had been so close. Granted they were only brothers then, but still. And then, after the Revolutionary War, even though it took almost a hundred years, the two became close once again.

Around that time America had discovered his feelings for England. But he didn't act on them until many years later...

"_Yo, Artie!" America called, jogging to catch up with his friend._

_England paused and allowed the teen to come up beside him before he resumed walking with America easily falling into step beside him. "What is it that you want this time, Alfred?" the Brit asked with a sigh to his tone._

_Of course he wouldn't let it show, but the assumption that he wanted something from England hurt America's feelings. He didn't let on, though, instead keeping up his trademark grin. "I've got something to tell you," he said coyly._

_Heaving a mental sigh England decided to play along with whatever America had in mind this time. "And what would that be?" he inquired, casting a sideways glance at the still grinning nation._

_Gathering all of his courage into one huge ball, America gripped England's arm and whirled the Brit around. England opened his mouth to demand that America tell him what he was doing at once, but before he could utter a single word his lips were covered by the teen's._

_A bright pink blush stained his cheeks and he returned the unexpected kiss. It was over quickly – too quickly, England's mind added unhelpfully. After a minute he was able to find his voice again. "What– what was that for?"_

"_Well I uh... I like you a lot," America said, blushing heavily._

_England's eyes widened. "You do?"_

"_Yeah..."_

_A soft, shy smile spread across the Brit's face. "I like you, too..."_

America shook himself from his memories with a small smile that was twinged with sadness. That had been one of the best days of his life.

A sigh left his lips as he looked around the room. It had barely been five hours and already he was missing the Brit. A seed of guilt had planted itself in his chest, and was steadily growing into a large tree. He wanted the Brit back, but he knew that he would have to do something completely and totally amazing and hero worthy in order to win him over.

Scanning the room for inspiration, America's gaze fell on an old, worn out suit that was still in surprisingly good condition. He remembered that England had given it to him all those years ago...

America stood up from his spot on the floor and picked up the dusty suit. An idea slowly began to hatch in his head, and he hoped that it would win England back.

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><p>England had just about dozed off on the recliner when he heard a knock on his front door. He flicked his weary gaze to the wall clock and found that it was roughly two in the morning. He groaned and wondered who the hell would be on his doorstep at two in the morning.<p>

He briefly hoped that it was America, but quickly dismissed it as foolish. There was another knock, and he groaned. He stood up and opened the door. Of all the things he was expecting, what he saw wasn't on the list.

America stood there, drenched from the still pouring rain in a blue suit that he instantly remembered. "...What are you doing here?" he asked cautiously.

"I'm here to apologize. I was a jerk. I didn't mean anything I said," America said, keeping his gaze level and voice even.

England slowly felt the ice that had encompassed his heart hours ago begin to melt. America looked so sorry... and he had come to stand in the rain and hadn't complained once.

England took a step forward, gently grabbing the suit collar. "You kept this... all this time?" he asked, turning his eyes from the suit to America's.

"Of course I did. You made it for me," America said, smiling. Not a grin, but a genuine smile.

"...You git..." England murmured, placing a hand on America's cheek.

"But I'm your git," America said, hoping that England would agree.

A soft, forgiving smile spread across the Brit's face. "That you are," he said softly, before pulling America to him for a kiss.

At that moment, they forgot that they were soaking wet, that it was two in the morning, and that they would probably get sick if they stayed outside much longer. All they could focus on was each other.

**End**

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><p>I am so sorry. shot

I was listening to _I Go to the Barn Because I Like the_ by Band of Horses (don't judge me!) and this... _thing_ suddenly came into my head. I had to write it. And I'm sorry for the cliché... everything, really, but the ending was especially cheesy. It was so cheesy that I actually laughed while I wrote it. But anyway, I hope you liked this... fluffy monster dipped in cheese.


End file.
